


We Are the Kids

by iclashwitheverything



Category: Bastion
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iclashwitheverything/pseuds/iclashwitheverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Rucks forgets that Zia and the Kid are still technically children, no matter what life has forced them to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are the Kids

Rucks forgets that The Kid is technically still a child, in spite of how the Wall and his Momma’s death forced him to grow up fast. Less often does he forget that Zia is too, but it happens. The universe always finds ways to remind him though.

 

The first time, it was just after Kid had found Zia. Sure finding Zulf had been exciting, and the Kid had been happy enough to see another survivor, but hell, Zia was about his own age. That another kid had survived when all those the Kid had known had turned to ash, well that brought no small amount of joy. For days after both him and Zia smiled on and on, they bonded more quickly than either Rucks or Zulf could have expected, and much of their downtime was spent together. Sure Zia spent much of her time with Zulf too, she wanted to learn about the people she came from, but she didn’t smile or laugh so much with anyone but the Kid. Rucks was reminded of just how young the two of them were whenever he saw them together, full of youthful energy and delight at having a new friend.

 

The second time, it was when the Kid gave Zia the Pyth plush and she beamed at him, clutching the soft little idol close to her chest as she thanked him. That night, when Rucks’ old joints woke him with their stiffness, he heard her crying, the Kid’s voice a low but indistinguishable murmur as he comforted her. In a brief moment of clarity he caught a few words, …. _my father…. ….when my momma…._ And he closed his eyes and waited for the wind to pick up again enough that he wouldn’t be intruding on their grief over their families. He appreciated that the Kid was helping her out, of course. Rucks couldn’t have done it half as well, he thinks.

 

The third time was when the Kid returned from Jawson’s Bog. The stink of the wild place followed the Kid like a miasma, his eyes wide and wild, stoic mask all but gone after what the bog had shown him. That night when Rucks was woken again by his aching joints and protesting back, he heard a faint sound carried on the breeze that swirled around the Bastion. At first he didn’t realize what it was, because the possibility of that sound ever existing had never occurred to him, but it was the Kid sobbing. Ruck lay there in the dark of his tent, eyes wide as he tried to decide whether or not he should go check on the Kid, until he heard another sound, layering over the muffled whimpers that the Kid was clearly trying to choke back down. Zia was singing, a soft lullaby, the sound coming from the Kid’s tent rather than her own. Rucks rolled over and closed his eyes and tried not to think that this may have been the first time in ages that the Kid had cried, not since his Momma died.

 

When Zia was taken by the Ura, that was when the world decided to show Rucks that both of his companions were still children, despite everything that Caelondia and the Calamity had thrown their way. When the Kid got back and fought off the Ura and found Zia missing, for the first time the Kid seemed lost for a moment, like he didn’t really know what to do. It didn’t last long of course, not once the Kid found her harp guitar. When he found her again and they returned, the Kid held Zia as she mourned her lost people, mourned her chance to connect with the culture she’d been born for but denied all her life by her father. When Rucks went to check on the two of them, he found them curled up together in her tent, sleeping, both looking more peaceful than ever despite the tear tracks staining Zia’s face and the still drying splotches on the Kid’s shirt. They were small, still. Young. As Zia mourned her lost heritage and the Kid mourned for her, Rucks let himself have a moment of weakness to mourn for their lost childhoods.

 

The Bastion flew, it flew on and on. Neither the Kid nor Zia had wanted to go back to the days when they were lonely, when Caelondia was intact and everyone else was still alive. Only Rucks wanted that, but he was old, set in his ways, and really the Kid had done too much work getting them all this far, the choice on whether or not to rewind the universe wasn’t up to Rucks anymore. These two kids, these two brave, incredible kids that had survived so much, the future was up to them. Even Zulf’s future had been picked by the Kid when the boy had thrown the broken man over his shoulders and carried him back to the Bastion. Picked by Zia when she didn’t hold a grudge and helped Rucks patch him up so that he would survive.

 

Yeah, they’re both still a couple of children, and the world reminds Rucks of that sometimes, but they’ve got the weight of the whole world on their shoulders and he’ll be damned if he doubts that they can carry it together.

 


End file.
